


A Star Adrift

by em_gray



Series: Star Crossed Verse [2]
Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Referenced - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, it's the sc oneshot guys!!, sci fi variant once again, uhh idk what else i should tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26375929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_gray/pseuds/em_gray
Summary: Chapter 19 of Star Crossed from Percy's POV.
Relationships: Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton, Percy Newton & Scipio, Percy Newton & Simmaa "Sim" Aldajah
Series: Star Crossed Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773700
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	A Star Adrift

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! so this fic is about what percy has been up to during chapter 19 of star crossed. if you're unfamiliar with star crossed, it's my funky giant sci fi au!! i'd recommend reading it before you read this one, as i don't think things will make a lot of sense on their own. anyway!! hope you enjoy!!

_I should hate him. I have every right and reason to hate him. He betrayed us, he used me, he’s going to be single-handedly responsible for the fall of the Crown and Cleaver._

Yet for some reason I’m curled up on his bed, hugging that stupid sweater he’s been wearing for a month and crying.

I’d ran back inside in a blind panic, hitting the first alarm bell I found. Instantly, the whole base was in an uproar, everyone coming out of their rooms half-asleep and confused. I ignored all of them. I just kept running though I had no idea where I was going—I just knew I couldn’t stay where I was.

Then I ran into Scipio.

“Percy? _Percy._ ” He’d caught me, as I’d almost run past him. He took me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye and asked, “What’s going on? Where’s the fire?” He added that last one as a joke, but I had no time for jokes.

“I have to- I have to get to the Commodore,” I blurted. I hadn’t decided that until I said it. “He has to know _–_ there’s going to be an attack. They’re going to wipe us out, the—the Empire knows, they—they have plans and codes and—the security system—the Duke— _Monty_ _–_ ”

“Slow down, slow down. Hey, look at me.” Scipio bent down until we were at eye level, holding me steady as I gasped for breath. I was still crying and in damn hysterics. “Deep breaths. Let’s sit down.”

I shrugged off his grip. “There’s no time. I have to _–_ ”

I’d tried darting off again, but he grabbed my arm and guided me inside an empty room, shutting the door to muffle the commotion in the hallways. All those people—they still didn’t know—we were wasting _time_ _–_

“I’m calling the Commodore right now,” Scipio said, tapping a few buttons on his communicator, “but I’m not listening to anything you have to say until you breathe.”

I was practically hyperventilating—but none of that _mattered_. “The Empire is going to attack the base,” I choked out.

Scipio, bless him, took me seriously. “When?”

“Any minute. I _–_ We have to _–_ I need to tell the Commodore, we need to fight back-”

“Percy. Listen to me.” He knelt down in front of me, all calm concern. “Our defenses are strong. Even if the Imperial Fleet was about to attack _–_ ”

“They _are_!”

“I believe you. If they were to start right now, it’d still take them a few hours at least to breach the atmospherical shield.”

“No!” I stood up, and God, I sounded like a child throwing a tantrum. “They have the codes. They know everything about our defenses. We’ve got nowhere to hide.”

And I was so glad he didn’t try to tell me it was impossible, because I damn well knew it was—but here it was happening anyway, our worst-case scenario. He stayed calm, and asked the next question, “How would they know all that?”

“They _–_ ” I bit my lip, still struggling to breathe properly. “They… They know, because—because Monty told them.”

That seemed to at least alarm him. “Percy,” he said. “How could the Prince pass on any information? He’s in prison.”

“He’s not.”

“Yes, he _–_ ” He trailed off as it hit him. He looked at me, eyes widening in dread. “Percy. Please tell me you didn’t.”

I gave him my most pained expression.

He gaped at me, briefly turning away as he collected himself. He opened his mouth again, but in that exact moment, the door opened and the Commodore walked in, Sim at his side. When she saw me in the state I was in, she stopped dead in her tracks, wearing an expression of dread to match Scipio’s.

“What’s going on?” the Commodore asked. “Why were the alarm bells pulled in the middle of the night?”

Scipio gave me one final look, then he stood up. “We have strong reasons to believe an Empire attack is at hand. Could we _–_ ” he looked back at me, “ _–_ speak in private? Percy?”

I nodded, tears still pouring down my face. I stood up, eyes on the floor and everyone else’s eyes on me, clearly feeling the tragedy at hand. The second I closed the door behind me, their voices started again.

I let myself slink down against the wall, knees pulled up, sobbing into my arms and trembling.

A grand total of five minutes passed, before the door was forcefully thrown open again. Aldajah paced out, looking furious as his eyes landed on me, and for the first time in my life, I was genuinely scared of him.

“You,” he said, voice low. He really towered over me as I sat there, curled up on the floor. “ _If_ we both live through this, you and I are going to have some serious words.”

I could only nod, terrified and silent.

“Now get out of my sight.”

I stumbled back to my feet and _ran_.

I couldn’t be around anyone. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye. Everyone was up and about, lots of them calling after me as they saw me running by in tears. But I couldn’t face any of them, knowing they might die today and it was my fault—my fault, because I was too trusting—because I was so stupid—because I was in _love_ _—_ because I _–_

I slammed the door to my room— _our_ room, it was our room, it belonged to _us_ _—_ another wave of panic coming on. I felt like I was breathing in too much and too little oxygen at the same time. My head swam with it, vision blurry with tears. And suddenly I saw that — that _mask_ , lying there, on his nightstand, and for one moment I felt like he was still there, and I couldn’t decide if that made me happy or furious, and I grabbed it and threw it at a wall.

It shattered.

That shocked me out of my panic. I stumbled back until the backs of my legs hit something. I sat down on the bed—on _his_ bed, where I’d been sleeping for a week, with him in my arms and the rhythm of his breathing my lifeline and his gorgeous blue eyes being the first thing I saw in the morning. And I drowned in him, him, _him_ , everywhere and _nowhere_ , and I choked, tangled in hatred and love, blurring together until they were one and the same.

I don’t know how long I laid there, curled up and trying to breathe. I just realized at one point that there was something poking me in the side, even though the blankets were pushed aside against the wall. I felt around and my hand closed around something soft, something made of fabric. It took me a while to recognize it in the dim light, and when I did, I wish I hadn’t.

It was his sweater. _My_ sweater, but for fuck’s sake, was there even a difference anymore? It was the green sweater I’d given him the day I kidnapped him, when I disguised him so the rebels wouldn’t find out who he is. He’d been wearing it most of his time here. The more I started to accept my feelings for him, the more fond I got of seeing him in those clothes. It had something domestic, sharing clothes with your partner, as if we were just any couple who’d just started living together and figuring out how a shared life worked. Something so normal and sweet and perfect.

I turned it over in my hands, fingers brushing over the sleeves and the two the holes he poked through them. They kept falling over his hands and it was easier to just put his thumbs through rather than keep tossing them back. And that—that did something to me. Something that drained all the anger and hatred out of me, and made space for an ocean of grief.

I couldn’t keep up hating him, no matter how much I wanted to. Because hating him was hating a part of my soul, and it was tearing me apart.

So I mourned. I mourned for our short time together and I mourned his every smile and I mourned the way my heart used to flutter when his knuckles brushed mine walking through hallways, and I missed his every joke and the way he looked at me sometimes. I missed that strange thing in his voice every time he called me _darling_.

The sweater still faintly smells like hair dye.

It feels like I’d been crying for an eternity when the door opens. I’m curled up in bed, still clutching that stupid sweater and pressing my face into it, even though it’s far too soaked at this point to dry any more tears.

I’m not crying anymore. I don’t think I’ve got anything left inside me at all.

The arrival carefully closes the door behind them, the noise in the hallway muffling. They sit down on my bed. I wait for them to speak or go away, neither preferable, but they wait a long time.

“Moping about isn’t going to help anyone, Newton,” Sim eventually says.

It could’ve been a reprimand, but her voice is so soft I know she doesn’t mean it that way.

“I’m not going to help anyone anyway,” I mumble. My voice is broken from all the crying I’ve done. “Better to stay out of the way, before I do any more damage.”

Sim huffs.

I didn’t know how much I was hoping she’d continue talking until she’s silent again. I bite my lip, back still turned. “Aren’t you going to tell me that I fucked up?”

“Do you need me to? I thought you would’ve figured that by now.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s a muddled sound, and it surprises me so much that I start to cry again. Sim crosses the room and sits down beside me, pulling me into a hug.

Sim doesn’t usually do hugs.

She lets me cry into her shoulder for a while, even though it’s awkward, because I’m much taller than she is. She rubs my back and doesn’t say anything, just waits it out.

She’s younger than me. Still, whenever I try to imagine what having a big sister would be like, I think of Sim.

“Haven’t you got anything better to do?” I ask her, when I can talk again.

“Oh, yes, absolutely.” That makes me laugh again. “You should feel honored I’m sitting here and letting you bawl into my shoulder like that.”

I smile, sitting up again and rubbing my eyes. “Thanks, Sim.”

“You’re welcome,” she says indifferently. “Besides, my father’s trying to set me up with the annoying tasks instead of doing anything useful. All my brothers are in a ship, ready to fight, and I’m supposed to be looking after the ones who can’t fight in the shelters.”

“That… does sound important.”

“Yes, and other people are taking care of it.”

I hum. “So, what _are_ your plans for the end of the world as we know it?”

She leans back. She accidentally puts a hand on the sweater I’ve been using like a tissue, scrunches up her nose, and gently pats it aside. “Well, my initial plans were to comfort a friend who needed it.” She shrugs. “For now my schedule’s all clear.”

I pull my feet onto the bed, wrapping an arm around my knees.

She glances aside. “I still mean it, though. You should be out there with the rest of us. This is going to be the fight of our lives, and you’re one of our best pilots.”

“I can’t show my face out there. I’m the reason the Empire is lurking at our doorstep. If I’d never kidnapped him…”

“But you did,” Sim says. “And there’s no changing that. Time travel is even more outlawed than rebellion.”

I sigh. “I can’t. I don’t deserve to die side by side with the others.”

“No, you don’t, so maybe if you’d join the fight, there won’t be any dying at all.”

I bite my lip. “I’m sorry, Sim.”

A silence falls over us. Distantly, there’s the tumult of the whole base running around, preparing for the fight. It feels so far away and unreal, like a nightmare I might still wake up from.

“I just…” I swallow. I don’t know why I’m saying this. “I just thought I knew him. _I_ of all people should’ve known him.”

Sim regards me. After a while, she pulls her legs onto the bed as well. “Maybe you did.”

“I _–_ ” That catches me off guard. I turn to her. “No, I clearly _didn’t_.”

“Would the Monty you knew do anything like this?”

“Of course he wouldn’t! He _–_ ” I cut myself off. Would he? I think back to when he was first confronted with the Empire’s true nature. The denial that was painful to watch. The way he defended his father, in spite of everything.

_Maybe I did deserve it._

I pull up my shoulders. “Before the Mines, maybe. If he felt… If he thought it might win his father’s favor.” I quickly sit up again. “But that doesn’t _change_ anything. The result is the same. And why—why are you defending him all of a sudden?”

Sim shrugs. “I… I don’t know. Well, firstly, I think he’s just not smart enough to pull off something like this on purpose. Secondly…” She sighs. “What I saw at the ball really made me reconsider. If that was an act…”

The ball. It still hurts me to think back of it. To see beautiful, confident, proud Monty reduced to something so small and scared in his father’s presence.

Maybe it runs deeper and more complicated in him than I ever knew.

“But he,” I still try, “he admitted it. He said he… He said…” _It was an accident._ “ _How_ do you do something like that by accident?”

“I don’t know,” Sim says. She hesitates. “Did you… ever notice anything? Through your… your bond.”

I think back. The past few weeks have been absolutely hectic, so it’s hard to remember. The only thing I really noticed through our bond was… his fondness. Increasing every day. That little skip his heart did when he saw me.

_Fuck._

“No,” I say truthfully. “I didn’t.”

“Could you…” She looks away, like she isn’t sure if she can ask this. “Can you still feel him?”

Of course I _–_ “Why?”

“I don’t know. If he’d be feeling smug about this whole affair, you’d be able to tell, wouldn’t you?”

She… has a point. I hadn’t thought about our bond once since what happened on the deck, except to curse it with everything I had in me. I haven’t tried to feel anything he’s feeling since. Not that I normally have to try—we’re Linked, whether we like it or not. Still, I focus. I close my eyes and listen to my heartbeat. I’m scared of what I’ll find. If he’s gloating, it would hurt more than I could say, if he’s feeling guilty… It would break me.

That’s why I’m surprised to find nothing at all.

“I…” I frown. It’s like I’m feeling around in the dark and find that I’m alone in an empty room. “I don’t feel anything.”

Sim gives me a look, something of dread in her brow. “What do you mean?”

“I… There’s nothing there, I…” How can there be nothing there? There’s always something. Even when he’s asleep, there’s _something_. It’s never empty.

A panic starts to build inside me.

“Is he… not feeling anything?”

“No, it’s not like that, it’s like…” My heart vaults, jaw dropping. “No.”

“What is it?”

 _Monty?_ I ask. If I’m wrong and he’s actually about to respond, I’ll feel like an idiot, but that doesn’t matter compared to the alternative. _Monty, are you there? Can you hear me?_

No reply comes.

“Shit.” I run a hand through my hair. How could I have been so _stupid_? “I think he’s wearing inhibitors.”

“Why would he be doing that?” Sim asks. Then she adds, and it’s clear from her tone she doesn’t believe in this option, “Do you think he’s put them on on purpose?”

“What’s the alternative?” Oh, I know damn well what the alternative is. I’m just so scared of it because that would mean—that would mean _–_

“Someone put them on him,” Sim says, eyes wide. “So he wouldn’t be able to reach out to you.”

“ _Shit._ ”

I jump to my feet, my head protesting so I need to take a moment to steady myself. Shit.

_He’s lying._

_You have to believe me._

_I love you._

“Shit!” I let myself fall down on my knees, scooping up the mask in my hand. “Oh my god. Oh my god. _Fuck._ ”

Sim has gotten up too. “Is he in danger?”

I spin around, standing back up. “The Duke said he was going to take him back to his father, I _–_ _How could I have been so stupid?!_ ”

Monty’s going back to his father. He’s going back there, now the Emperor knows what he’s done, now he knows he’s betrayed him, now he knows Monty belongs with us. I let them take him back to that man, to that monster, who’s beaten him into the hospital for so, so much less.

_He begged me not to leave._

I drop the pieces onto my bed, and grab Sim by the shoulders. “I have to go find him.”

  
  


I ignore the looks I get as I march through the crowd at the docks, Sim on my heels. I ignore the calls, both concerned and angry, and go straight to the Eleftheria.

I know what I have to do. They may not understand it, but I’m going to do it regardless.

Scipio has his back turned when I arrive, talking to someone else. He turns when I call him.

“Percy,” he says, surprise in his tone. “You, uh…”

There’s something of conflict in his expression. He looks me up and down and I realize I must still look like a mess from crying my eyes out less than an hour ago.

“I’m taking the Eleftheria,” I say.

He blinks. “Oh. Did you… Did you decide to join the fight after all?”

“No.”

The few people listening in on our conversation gape.

Scipio hesitates. “Then… what for?”

“I’m going to the Royal Palace. I’m going to get Monty back.”

Now the bystanders truly have something to be shocked at. I don’t have time for them. I’ve wasted enough hours while they’re doing god knows what to Monty.

“But…” Scipio starts. He glances aside, like he isn’t sure if he should call for back-up. “But didn’t he…”

“Yes, he did.” My voice is steady. I state it out loud, just for the crowd: “He betrayed us. He passed on Crown and Cleaver intel, and that’s the reason why we’re being attacked right now. Yes, he fucked up, but it was either an accident or a poorly informed decision. And even if it wasn’t—even if he did it on purpose, fully aware of the consequences, if he really tried to get us all killed because he hates us so much, because he hates _me_ so much—I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care if he can’t stand the sight of me, if he’s hated our every embrace and every kiss, if he’d love nothing more than to never think of me again—he’s not safe there. Whether he realizes it or not, he shouldn’t be there. And I will go through hell and back to get him out, to keep him safe, to take care of him, and I am going to do that whether he fucking likes it or not.”

Everything has gone silent. Even the battle preparations seem to have stopped, and I’ve got all eyes on me. I don’t look at any of them. I just look Scipio straight in the eye, feeling more determined than I have about anything in my life. I take a deep breath. “So now we have two options. Either you’re going to give me the Eleftheria, or I’m going to _take it_.”

A long, long moment passes. Suddenly, I’m afraid—if all the rebels present here decide to stop me, I don’t stand a chance. I’m just one man, and even if Sim is on my side, I’d still never make it out—so I’m really relying on my bluff to get the ship. My one chance to get to Monty, who needs me.

Scipio considers me. “You’d really risk your life trying to protect him, even if you don’t know if he wants you to? Rather than fight by our side?”

I swallow. I can’t lie, though it hurts me to do this. If I leave now, I may never see any of them alive again—but I’ve made up my mind. The rebels have each other. Monty has no one.

I nod.

Scipio sighs deeply, eyes cast down. Then he takes something out of his pocket and holds it out.

The Eleftheria’s keys.

I scoff in disbelief. I carefully take the keys, not entirely convinced he isn’t going to snatch them away at the last moment—but he doesn’t. He just watches me in strange melancholy, a small smile on his face.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I have to _–_ ”

He hugs me.

We don’t hug as much as we used to when I was a kid. Which is entirely my fault—I got older and didn’t appreciate it as much anymore. Stupid, really. Right now, it’s the best thing in the world.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, so quietly only I can hear.

I can’t manage any words past the lump in my throat. I just nod.

I climb onto the ladder to the Eleftheria’s roof. When I get there, I stand up and look around.

Everyone’s watching me. This isn’t the entire rebellion, as the majority is either at another dock or in the shelters, but there are still _so many_. So many people from all over the galaxy, all prepared to risk their lives for this. For a crown topping a cleaver. For a rebellion. For a home.

For a family.

My family.

I grew up here. I said my first words and took my first steps in these halls. This is where I learned to play the violin, where I heard the stories of my parents, where I made friends and learned how to fly a spaceship and slowly found out what we’re fighting for. In this base I fell in love with a voice in my head, one telepathic conversation at a time, and all over again when he actually got here.

It’s everything. It’s my whole life. And this may be the last I ever see of it.

No one is looking particularly angry at me. They seem… surprised. Sad. I look down at Sim and Scipio, who give me encouraging smiles, and suddenly I feel mortified I didn’t get to say goodbye to Jeanne, and Esmee, and Ebrahim, and Georgie, and _–_

I force myself to stop.

There’s no point to this.

I close my eyes, and climb into the ship.

  
  


The Palace is very different from the way it was at the ball. I’ve never been this far in before; it’s dark, and lifeless, and altogether haunting.

It’s very spacious, all glass walls and carefully kept flower bushes between the artificial waterfalls quietly gurgling in the night. I’m in what I think is the main hall, mirror staircases leading up into the sky. I have no idea where I’m going—I’m trying to use our Link, but the feeling is so muffled it sends me everywhere and nowhere. Chasing wisps that go out the second you go anywhere near them.

I’m armed with nothing but my shield and the taser I had lying around in the ship from the anniversary. I’ve so far managed to avoid the guards, but I don’t know if my luck will hold out.

I’ve taken to talking to Monty. I know he can’t hear me, but there’s some comfort in it.

_All right, Monty. Where are you?_

He mentioned at the ball his rooms were several floors up. I glance around the corner I’m hiding behind. The stairs have guards posted at every floor, though, so I’m not too keen on going up there. I don’t even know if he’s in his rooms. _Think, Percy._ I know he always has to meet his father in his office, but where is that?

I opt for the path with the least obstacles, which leads downstairs. I’m really just stumbling around blind, and it’s getting on my nerves. _God damn it, Monty. Why can’t I find you?_

A thought sneaks up on me. _What if he’s dead?_ What if he died and you didn’t know because your Link was interrupted and you can’t find him because _–_

No. I stop myself. This is pointless. I’m not giving up on finding Monty. There’s no way to know if he’s—if he’s _okay_ until I find him, so that’s what I’m going to do, even if I have to scour every inch of this goddamn place.

 _I’m so sorry, Monty_ , I think. _I wish I’d believed you._

I hear a noise up ahead and start. I jump back behind the corner, pressing myself against the wall and try to breathe as quietly as possible.

It’s a pair of footsteps approaching, hushed voices talking. _They’re coming my way_ , I realize in alarm, as I clutch the taser and make my shield appear. _They’re going to see me._

I quickly make up my mind. They’re going to find me, and wasting hours on a wild goose chase isn’t going to help Monty. It’s time I start demanding some answers.

I wait until they’re just a few feet away, then I jump out of my hiding place, weapon raised and charging.

The pair starts, surprised expressions lit by the electricity crackling as I aim at them. The light blinds me a bit, and contrasting with the dark, it’s hard to see their faces. Not that I care. “Where’s Monty?” I demand. “The Prince. I’m not leaving without him.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, put that down, you’ll hurt someone.”

I frown. I know that voice from somewhere. I lower my weapon a little, letting the energy die out, and it’s ripped from my hands.

“We’re on the same side. Let’s not waste any time.”

I blink a few times, my vision adapting to the dark. “Wait… Felicity?”

Monty’s younger sister crosses her arms, looking peeved. Behind her, there’s another guy—a few years older, with dark hair and blue eyes I have altogether heard too much about.

“Sinjon? What are you two lurking around here for?”

“Same thing as you are—trying not to get caught.” Felicity takes my wrist and drags me into a room. Sinjon follows, closing the door behind us.

It’s a sitting room, empty but for the digital fire burning in the hearth. I don’t have time to admire the interior—I turn back to her. “I’m looking for Monty.”

“Yes, I figured. Why isn’t he at the Crown and Cleaver?”

“It’s the Duke. He took him. I _–_ ” I bite my lip, looking away. “I let them take him.”

“Why?”

“I thought…” God, it all sounds so stupid now. “I thought he betrayed us.”

“Because of the intel.” It’s Sinjon who said it, and we both turn to him. For some reason, I’m suddenly angry with him, stray rage drifting around in my consciousness without purpose now it’s not directed at Monty anymore.

“It was you,” I say. It makes so much sense; Monty would never have been able to do it on his own.

Sinjon gives me a pained expression. “I can’t blame you if you don’t believe me, but I never wanted to do it. Henry just contacted me one night. He was drunk, and I… I should’ve just told him I wouldn’t do it.”

 _He was drunk._ The last time Monty’s been really drunk, we’d just had our fight outside the hospital ward. God. It all adds up, and I hate the picture it’s creating.

I mostly just hate that I didn’t see it sooner.

“He didn’t even want to carry through with it at first,” Sinjon says. “I could’ve sent it right away but he stopped me. We made this… system, where he sent me a code every day. So if something happened to him and he couldn’t send it, I’d know I’d have to pass on the intel.”

 _If something happened._ “They took away his communicator,” I say. “After the ball. When they realized who he was.” It wasn’t his fault at all. My anger becomes once again directed at Sinjon. “You passed it on.”

“I didn’t, I swear, I didn’t.” He puts up both hands, like I’m pointing a weapon at him. “I never would’ve. I knew Henry was in doubt, and… going through the imperial servers to help you guys with the Mines, I saw some things that made me doubt the Empire as well. I swear I didn’t pass it on.”

“How did they get it, then?” I don’t entirely believe him. It’s so much easier to put the blame on someone who isn’t Monty.

_But you did make Sinjon steal the information in the first place, didn’t you, love?_

“The Empire arrested him,” Felicity cuts in. “I just broke him out of jail.”

I gape at her.

“You rebels aren’t the only ones who can break the law,” she says, chin lifted. “After my brother and I… _discussed_ his new opinion on the Empire _–_ ” _discussed_ _indeed_ being a broad term here, as I’d heard the shouting, “ _–_ well, first I was angry. But then I started thinking about it, and I realized that if the Empire indeed had nothing to hide, I might as well have Sinjon look through some things for me. When I got there, his mother told me the Imperial Guard arrested him a few days ago.” She sighs. “That told me enough.”

“I don’t know how they figured it out,” Sinjon says, looking tired. “They just… showed up one morning. I really thought they were going to kill me.”

“But they couldn’t, thanks to me,” Felicity concludes. “Now, where’s my idiot brother?”

“I have no idea,” I say. “I can’t find him. He’s wearing inhibitors, so our Link doesn’t work.”

They both look disturbed.

“I didn’t even know that was possible,” Felicity says. “Why would they _–_ ”

“Doesn’t matter. The point is that I have to find him. Now, where could he be?”

“How long has he been back?” she asks.

I check the time on my communicator. “Few hours? I… don’t really know. I’ve been… distracted.” Crying from heartbreak counts as being distracted.

“If he were in his room, I’d have heard him.” Felicity rests her chin on one hand, frowning in thought.

“What about your father’s office?”

“I… suppose.”

“Where is it?”

“Top floor.”

“That’s past too many guards.” I bury my face in my hands. “I can’t take them all by myself.”

Felicity rolls her eyes. “Rebels. Always the violent solutions first.”

I want to argue, but her tone implies she’s got a better idea. “Then what do you suggest?”

  
  


When I pictured infiltrating the Royal Palace, I did not, by any means, imagine I would simply be walking past the guards.

“Act normal,” Felicity hisses, eyes ahead. She smiles politely as we pass another pair of guards. A handful look confused, but no one asks any questions. We reach the top floor without problem.

I’m not feeling reassured. I glance over my shoulder, at the staircase, and whisper: “Are you _sure_ they don’t suspect anything?”

“Why would they? I’m the Princess. I can have friends visit.” She doesn’t look entirely convinced herself, though. “We’re not planning to stick around here for long, anyway.”

Up ahead, there’s a pair of giant double doors. I don’t even have to ask—I just know. I’ve never been here before yet those doors make me feel like there’s a stone pressing on my lungs, on my stomach, on my heart. My nerves rattle, and for a moment I think I might throw up.

It’s a curious thing. The bond can’t pass on images, but this place is so deeply ingrained in Monty’s subconscious that even I’m afraid of it.

We sneak closer, listening carefully. There’s no sound coming from inside during the minutes we wait, so after a bit we distance ourselves again to discuss our next move.

“If he isn’t there, then where is he?” Felicity asks. “Maybe we should go check his rooms, just in case _–_ ”

There’s footsteps inside, and I pull the both of them behind a houseplant. The doors open and there he is, the person who is single-handedly responsible for almost all of my darling Monty’s suffering. In that moment, I want nothing more than to hurt him back.

But I don’t move.

The Emperor walks down the stairs until he’s two floors lower. We wait what seems like an eternity for his footsteps to die away.

I quickly check our surroundings, then make for the doors. They’re unlocked, blessedly, and don’t make too much noise as I open them.

I realize the others aren’t following me. I turn.

Felicity and Sinjon are a few feet away, looking unnerved at the room behind me.

“What?” I ask.

“That _is_ the Emperor’s office,” Sinjon says quietly.

I scoff. “The Emperor’s a bastard and a criminal and I’m not gonna rest until he’s rotting away in jail for the rest of his life. Until then, I will go out of my way to make his life a living hell in any way I can, starting by breaking into his office and either wrecking some things or stealing stuff, and he can consider that a warning.”

And with that, I march into the room.

It’s huge—maybe thirty yards to get from the door to the far windows and with ceilings like a cathedral. Paintings hang between bookcases, crystal chandeliers suspended above, and a long carpet rolls out, leading to the desk at the far end of the room.

It terrifies me. I barely make a sound as I go across, holding my breath and taking it all in.

This is it. This is where Monty’s been hurt more times than I can count. This is where he tore his chin open, where he chipped his tooth, where he bruised his ribs, where he slowly lost his will to live, one hit at a time.

And by the stars, in that moment I want nothing more than to burn it all to the ground.

I’ve already sat down and I’m starting up the computer when Felicity and Sinjon slowly creep inside, tense and wide-eyed.

“I’ve never actually been in here before,” Felicity says.

The Emperor’s computer is plain and nondescript, nothing of personality on there, and I’m sort of glad. I open up the file history and I’m surprised to find my own name there. I click it open. it’s my file from the Crown and Cleaver. I know they keep these, but I’ve never actually seen mine. It’s just basic information—name, date of birth, planet of origin, medical files. References to my parents. My father…

I… haven’t actually seen his picture in a while. At one point I started avoiding it. I’ve never seen a picture of my mother. I’m not sure there is one.

_So he knows about you and me, darling._

Sinjon and Felicity join me behind the screen. I close my own file and start scrolling through the database it’s from—and exactly as suspected, I find everything the Empire needs to know about the Crown and Cleaver. It makes my blood boil.

“This is the information you stole?” I ask noncommittally.

Sinjon tenses up, then sighs. “Yes.” Then he leans in, elbows resting on the desk. “Hang on. This thing is probably linked up to every imperial computer out there, right?”

I move aside. “What are you thinking?”

“Could I take a look?”

I stand up, and Sinjon takes my place in the desk chair. He pulls the keyboard closer and starts typing. Several windows flash by, too fast to follow, so Felicity and I just stand behind him and hold our breaths, occasionally glancing at the door.

After a few minutes, Sinjon nods. “It’s as I thought. This computer can moderate the imperial servers.”

I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. “Which means?”

“It means,” Sinjon says, sounding smug, “All I have to do is hit a few keys, and all the Crown and Cleaver intel will vanish from existence.”

“Well, don’t just sit there bragging,” Felicity says. “Get on with it.”

His hands dance over the keyboard, several windows popping open, then he dramatically hits the _delete_ -key. A loading bar appears, and every millimeter it progresses, more and more files disappear. A weight falls off my shoulders.

Perhaps the Crown and Cleaver might live to see another day.

The computer announces the deletion process is complete, and Sinjon shuts the thing down. “Now, there’s only one real way to make sure everything is completely gone.” He sounds very much in his element. He takes a ruler out of the pencil case and starts prying open a loose board on the desk. He manages to jam the object inbetween and pulls it up, revealing the computer’s hardware, glowing faintly in astridium blue. Sinjon takes out what looks like a little box and displays it. “Behold,” he says. “The imperial servers.”

He drops it on the floor and crushes it under his heel.

The doors fly open, and we all jump back. The Emperor is silhouetted against the light in the hallway, accompanied by half a dozen armed guards, and he’s not looking happy at all. I make my shield appear, making sure it’s big enough to protect us three as the guards aim their guns at us.

“Mr. Newton,” the Emperor says evenly, initial shock disappearing. “We meet again.”

“Where is he?” I snap. I know damn well he won’t tell me, but I need to buy some time. I let my right hand slip into my pocket and close around the Eleftheria’s keys, finding the button I’m looking for blindly.

The man considers me for a while. “Shouldn’t you know?” he then says. “I thought you were Linked.”

It takes everything in me not to leap over the desk and punch him in his smug face.

A face that becomes instantly less smug when he spots the girl standing next to me. “Felicity?” Confusion turns into calculated anger. “What are you doing?”

There’s something of fear in the way she tenses up. She keeps her voice under control, though. “What does it look like I’m doing?” she replies fiercely.

The Emperor’s jaw sets. “I see. I have to face betrayal from not one, but two of my children.” He lightly back nods at the hallway. “Has Adrian joined the rebellion too?”

“ _Where’s Monty?!_ ” I repeat. I can pretend I don’t have a plan except yelling at him. I can pretend I’m losing control worrying about my soulmate. Especially if there isn’t that much pretending involved.

“Why do you care? He isn’t on your side anymore.” The Emperor takes a few steps forward, and us three shrink a few steps back. “He decided the Empire deserves his loyalty more. He spied on you. He betrayed you. He belongs with the Empire.”

“Liar,” I growl through gritted teeth.

“Why else do you think he requested Link inhibitors?” And at that, my blood turns to ice. “He got tired of your pathetic little breakdown. All those hurt feelings got on his nerves.” He shrugs, so casually, pressing every goddamn button. _He’s lying, he’s lying, he’s lying, it isn’t true_ _–_ “He really couldn’t believe how easy it was to trick you. Still, it took forever to get that information. Said he couldn’t wait to get back home, to get rid of you. But you must be pretty used to that, aren’t you? People leaving you behind?”

My nails are digging into my palms to the point they draw blood. I’m shaking with how angry I am, how hard I’m trying not to believe him, as if this isn’t everything I’ve been telling myself for hours, everything I’ve been fearing all night long.

 _He’s lying, he’s lying, he’s lying, it isn’t true, it can’t be true_ _–_

“Don’t listen to him, Percy,” Felicity says, hand on my wrist. “He’s just messing with you.”

“Oh, please shut up, Felicity,” the Emperor says, studying his nails in boredom. “You haven’t done a worthwhile thing in your life and you never will.”

Felicity flinches.

The ground has started to tremble, which means our escape is at hand. We just have to wait a little longer—I have to not lose my mind a little longer _–_

“And who is number three? Oh, Mr. Westfall. I’ve _read_ quite a lot about you.”

He means Monty’s letters, and Sinjon knows it. He blanches.

“Quite an unfortunate situation we had a few years back, wasn’t it?” the Emperor continues. “Your mother and I have discussed it at length. I’ve advised her an excellent facility where they know how to deal with your little… problem. Last I heard she was arranging for you to visit it in a few months.”

Sinjon whimpers.

“Let me know if you can recommend it once you get back, would you? Henry’s been looking for a similar solution, so I’m sure he’ll… be…” He frowns. “What is that noise?”

And, thank the stars, in that moment the Eleftheria appears behind us. The Emperor realizes my plan, his shouts at the guards to open fire drowned out by the Eleftheria’s engines. I’m then preoccupied by putting all my weight behind my shield to not get knocked off my feet. Thankfully, Felicity understands my idea without me having to say it: she grabs the desk chair and throws it at the window. It shatters without problem and we flinch back as glass shards rain down on us.

I yell at Felicity and Sinjon to jump and they do, then I shrink my shield down so it’s protecting only me and I can manage the leap. I’m still taking fire as Felicity and Sinjon climb inside. A particularly heavy blast throws me off balance, and for a moment I’m face to face with the hundred yard drop to the ground. A hand grabs my wrist—Felicity drags me away from the ship’s edge and toward the latch. We fall inside, the latch almost crushing my fingers as a bullet ricochets off it and it falls closed. I run toward the cockpit, jamming the keys into ignition and switch the ship to manual control. We’ve already taken a bit of damage before I can get the shields up. I turn the ship around and hit the gas, setting everything up for warp speed before we’ve even left the atmosphere.

We break into open space, and I pull the lever, stars blurring around us.

And just like that, it’s over.

My ears ring with it. I take a few deep breaths to steady myself, and relish in the knowledge we made it out. I turn the chair. “Are you guys all right?” I ask breathlessly.

Sinjon and Felicity are both on the floor, disheveled and wide-eyed.

“I’m good,” Sinjon says, and Felicity nods. They get on their feet and I turn back to the dashboard to review the damage the Eleftheria’s taken. I find that she’s mostly okay, but I’ll have to take her in for repairs soon, to be safe.

I sigh, resting my elbows on the dashboard and my head in my hands. _Fuck._ That was too close.

_And I still have no idea where you are, darling._

Followed by, _I let them take you back to that monster._

“Don’t let him get to you,” Felicity says at my side, and I start. I hadn’t heard her approach. “Even I can tell that Henry’s over the moon for you. And if he isn’t—it’s his loss.”

I scoff. “Someone’s opinion of the rebels has changed.”

“Of the rebels, yes.”

I realize Sinjon is still lingering in the back, looking particularly shaken. “Sure you’re all right?” I ask.

He shrugs vaguely. “It just… The things he said, they weren’t all lies. I, uh… I knew my mom had some… plans, but I didn’t know… until today.” He grimaces. “God, I’d never thought she…”

A stab of sympathy for him goes through me. I’ve never been particularly fond of him, ever since Monty thought it’d be a good idea to rant to his soulmate about his infatuation with him for several months on end, and even less since I found out about the intel. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s all right. I can’t go home anymore now, anyway.” It seems to hit him, all at once. “Shit. I’m never going home anymore.”

He buries his face in his hands, and I realize he’s crying. I exchange an uncomfortable glance with Felicity. Someone should go comfort him, but as I am his ex’s soulmate and Felicity is, according to Monty, notoriously bad at physical affection, we’re out of candidates. So instead we turn away, giving him some privacy.

“What now?” Felicity asks.

“We find Monty.”

“We’ve no idea where he is.”

“I know.”

She looks at me, and in that moment I think she understands—that I’m just about ready to search the entire fucking galaxy for him, one miserable space rock at a time. I have no idea where to start, but I do know that I won’t stop until I find him.

 _Hang in there, darling,_ I say. _I’m going to find you. That’s a promise. I’m going to find you and I’m going to bring you home._


End file.
